


Aisthētḗs (or in other words: you're my aesthetic, baby)

by The_Readers_Muse



Series: A Fine(r) Art [3]
Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Art, Colin is a dumb virgin who can't even drive, Colin is like a black lab frantically chasing a car - but instead of a car its actual thoughts, Drama & Romance, F/M, Light Angst, Period Typical Attitudes, Sexual Content, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, he is stupid and pretty your honor, local himbo wonders if he is horny or if he just needs to go to bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: If there were words for the feeling he was chasing, he didn't have them.
Relationships: Colin Bridgerton & Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington
Series: A Fine(r) Art [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122908
Comments: 32
Kudos: 155





	Aisthētḗs (or in other words: you're my aesthetic, baby)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "Bridgerton" or any of the show's characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Part three of the "A Fine(r) Art" series. Please read "Every Aphrodite is valid (just ask Zeuxis)" and "Gulosity (in all things)" first.
> 
> Warnings: mild sexual content, drama, romance, romantic tension, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension, angst, art, local himbo wonders if he is horny or if he just needs to go to bed, Colin is like a black lab frantically chasing a car - but instead of a car its actual thoughts, he is stupid and pretty your honor, Colin is a dumb virgin who can't even drive.

_"Do you ...do you not approve of it?_

_"I do, very much. ...She is... she is-"_

_"I'm relieved... your opinion, once given, is the only authority I trust."_

* * *

He sat in his rooms, shell-shocked and quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Vibrating with a tension that tugged at his shoulder blades. Threatening to wrench them down the small of his back as his frustration mounted. Going over every moment with Penelope and the painting until he was ripping off his collar just to breathe freely.

_Damn Eloise and her insufferable meddling!_

Seeing Penelope like that - chin tipped up, cheeks pink, lips parted - had been more than he could bear. He'd had to clench his fist behind his back, digging nails into his palm until it hurt. Too afraid that if he gave himself leave, he would have crossed over and taken her hand.

It was different between them now.

He did not know the reason - if there was one.

Depending who you asked, the masculine sex was incapable of understanding such complexities.

Lasting love was the territory of the female, or so he was told.

But he didn't believe that.

Only a few weeks earlier, he hadn't thought of Penelope as anything more than a dear friend. Someone who delighted him with her barbs and banter. Who had a quiet way about her that calmed him. He could admit there was an earnestness in her that'd slashed discomfort through him. The way she'd looked at him at the dance? It had made him want to run.

But he knew the swooping warmth he felt with the painting was the same feeling he'd all but panted through hours before. Seeing Penelope in his rooms, a shapely vision of shining eyes and pale blue muslin, had forced that realization without his consent.

He felt...broken with it.

 _Changed_.

And- and he didn't know what to do.

* * *

He ordered dinner to his rooms instead of joining the others. Well aware it would mean becoming the focus of conversation.

Not sure if he should curse his overly involved family or consider them a blessing.

Either way, he was in no state to be amiable.

* * *

That night he dreamt of her.

Not the woman in the painting.

_Her._

* * *

A smile stretched across his face as he watched the robe slip off her shoulders. The candle-light barely illuminating her as she shook her hair free from it's pins. A chill prickled down his thighs as he leaned back on his elbows, watching her. His sleep shift was rucked up indecently, drawing her eyes. Her attention sent a pulse of pleasure arrowing down to his belly. His cock twitched, barely covered by the soft linen.

He'd always liked the way Penelope looked at him, even when it put him off-foot.

She looked at him like she never wanted to look at anything else.

It caught him off guard sometimes, how fervent the look could be. As it did now.

Her dressing gown didn't hide her curves, but he was a greedy thing. Unsatisfied until he could touch her. _Have_ _her_.

He beckoned her closer, feeling each word as it rolled off his tongue.

"I find myself very much at my leisure...but better for it if you'd join me?"

Blue silk whispered as she hushed closer. A shy laugh in her smile.

He settled back on the pillows as she climbed into bed. Pinging unruly springs. But he barely noticed. Far too distracted by the soft of her skin when it grazed his. Finding a spattering of freckles that dotted her calves like constellations as she folded _downdowndown_ , gripping his thighs.

It was bold, in a utilitarian way. Bracing her as she leaned in for a kiss. But also serving to thrill him as she reigned powerful above him. Hair feathering across his chest as she wavered there. Growingly confident.

This was new. _Exciting_.

He answered her eagerly, allowing himself to be held down as she positioned herself atop him. Nearly distracted from the kiss when she grazed his cock. So close, yet so far away from where he wanted her most.

She pulled away with kiss-swollen lips. Breathing hard against his sweaty temple when he tried to follow her.

"Leisure, sir?" she teased, beautiful in her way. "Indeed, you appear content to let me do all the work this evening."

_When had it gotten so warm?_

It had to be her.

 _Them_.

The air was thick with it.

_And why wouldn't it be?_

This was fire that had been smoldering long before he'd asked for her hand. Long before he'd wedded her in the same church as his christening. Before he'd gotten over his fears and looked at her – _really looked at her_. It had been there always, waiting to be acknowledged.

He didn't have time to come up with a glib response. Once stirred to action, Penelope was determined. In a movement, she'd straddled his hips. Just as hungry as she gripped the juts of his hips. Wanting to preen when she hummed an approving sound into the soft of his throat. Shirt so rucked up he was bare for her at last.

The air he sucked in was humid, tart with female pleasure.

He arched up for a kiss, desperate, but she denied him. Smile devilish in the low light.

That was all the warning he received. Because just then - when he was between breaths - she was on him. Gripping his cock and sinking down with a deep, encompassing moan that was felt more than heard.

_Oh._

His toes curled into the mattress, groaning at her tightness. At the new angle. He braced her instinctively as her head tipped back. Because he felt it too. It was too much. _She was too much._ He arced up again, muscles burning. Forehead pressed between her breasts as she shuddered through a pleasured sigh. But it wasn't until she lifted slowly up, then came down again that his world fractured into a hundred beautiful pieces. Ravenous for more as she slowly found a rhythm she liked.

His fingers kneaded into the ample flesh of her hips. Anchoring them together.

"Pen…Pen, _please_ …"

It didn't even sound like him.

So taken by this new thrill he couldn't even fathom flipping them and having her.

He wanted this. He wanted to watch her move. He wanted to hear her gasping breaths. He wanted to watch her fall apart, just like this. Caught on his cock as she sang those gorgeous notes he'd come to know better than almost anything. He wanted-

* * *

He jerked awake, hand tight around his cock. So lost in the last of the dream he couldn't help the drive of his hips. Stuttering up again and again until he was crying out. Biting his lips to mask the sound as he cusped into an unwitting release.

_Good Christ._

If there were words for the feeling he was chasing, he didn't have them.

He'd never been particularly good at word play, if he was being honest.

He was no stranger to taking himself in hand, but this was different.

His imaginings had been- _lurid_ of late.

He had no real experience. Nothing beyond the tawdry books he'd snuck from Anthony's chambers as a youth. His brothers talked about taking him to the brothels, especially after his ill-fated engagement to Marina. Viewing the entire affair as a consequence of not taking him sooner. As if he were some lustful fool who couldn't wait for a proper match in due time. So far, he'd refused their attempts. But now, with spend cooling on his belly, he wondered if he'd been right to stay the course.

In the corner of the room, the painting was wreathed in night. The woman was only an outline, but it didn't matter. He knew every part of her. Every ripple of flesh, every curve. But in his dreams, Penelope had never lived in more startling color. Knowing her better somehow. Better than any painting.

He forced his hand away from his cock when it twitched hopefully. Trying to banish the thought as he considered what Penelope might look like with her hair down. Those lovely auburn curls kissing her shoulders. Eloise had said her mother rarely allowed her to cut it. So, much like the painting, the longest part might even graze the small of her back. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered it. It would be soft to the touch. He knew because the last time they'd danced her curls had slipped over the flat of his knuckles when he swung her around.

The skin had buzzed for hours afterward.

He hadn't thought about it since.

But now it was all he _could_ dwell on.

Wishing he knew the feel of it against his-

He hissed a frustrated sound, wiping his soiled hand on the bed clothes. The enormity of his desire threatened to disgust him.

Indeed, he was angry at himself for using her ill, even if it was in the privacy of his own mind.

She deserved more than being the subject of his growing list of perversions.

He kicked himself out of the linens. Tugging the dirty sheet from the mattress and leaving it on the floor. With the fire out, the air was cold against his heated skin. Enough that he hiked the coverlet up to his waist before covering his face with the splay of his arm.

But there was no hiding from it.

This wasn't a daydream or an idle thought.

It was here to stay.

The canopy of his bed bred shadows, so he looked towards the canvas. Able to make out the curve of a breast and soft of her stomach before he closed his eyes again. Heart tight in his chest as he came to the realization by force.

He didn't know what he would say. What he _could_ say after the disastrous afternoon in his chambers.

Only one thing was for certain, he needed to talk to Penelope.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- Aisthētḗs: The Greeks considered an aisthētḗs as "one who feels." It's from this idea of emotional sensitivity that the word aesthete came about in the late 19th Century as a noun for someone who greatly appreciates beauty and the arts. An aesthete doesn't have to be wealthy or highly educated. You can be a hotel maid who stops cleaning to absorb a strain of Beethoven and be as much an aesthete as the poet who writes about the splendor of a leaf.


End file.
